May 31, 2011

2011 Merit Award
Eric Carr - Snow - 2011 Merit Award

By Eric Carr, 1st grade


Snow and shovels all around
There is a pickle in my hound
And snow all around
And horses on the bound
Firing snowballs on the ground

*Copyright 2011 by Eric Carr. Placard design by Egress Studio.

The trees*

May 30, 2011

McKeahan Carlton reads his winning poem, "The Trees"

2011 Merit Award
By McKeahan Carlton, 4th grade

The trees

Chain saws buzz.
Noisy trucks plow through the
Muddy road kicking up dirt.
The green trees sway in the summer day
Hot like an engine.
The tree claps on to the ground
branches bent
tree trunks dented.
Sits there moping
Then boom another tree falls.
Then the trees aren’t so lonely.

*Copyright 2011 by McKeahan Carlton. Photo by Nancy Canyon.


May 29, 2011

2011 Merit Award

Laura Boynton - Azygous - 2011 Merit Award

By Laura Boynton


A sharp shard of a word
To lodge in every unmated, unmatched soul
Swans, red-tailed hawks, eagles, owls
Can sustain lifelong partnerships
Is it because owlets fledge
And cygnets swim away?
And human mothers are left
Picking up
A rubber band a hairbrush a Lego
A pair of scissors a slipper
A library book a marble a fork
A sweatshirt a cartoon
And then
Washing up
A counter a floor a table
A dish a load of clothes
A car seat a pan a window
A dog a child
Is it because the biological imperative
To mate
Withers inside the husk of routine
Rattles, infertile
Mateless mother
More alone for keeping three aloft
Wax wings dripping, ruined.

*Copyright 2011 by Laura Boynton. Placard design by Egress Studio.


May 28, 2011

Caleb Barber reads his winning poem, "Pete"

2011 Merit Award
By Caleb Barber


I pick up the terrier that has been
trailing me steadily for two blocks
of my walk home. He’s a little thing:
white wired hair with black patches,
and a collar tag which says his name
is “Pete,” along with an address not far
from here. I carry him under my arm,
tell him he’s a handsome boy,
and he nuzzles my ear. I pat his chest
and he sticks his paw in my pocket,
then looks out over the neighborhood
as if I were the mast of a ship nearing port.

When we get to the house, I double-check
the number against the tag,
then drop him over the picket fence.
As soon as he hits dirt, he reels around
snarling, shoving his muzzle through the slats
with his teeth in a brutal grin.
He peels back grass clumps with his claws
and beats himself against the bushes,
bursting blossoms from their stems.
Oh, Pete. You would have me
if you ever caught me on your side
of the fence, but hop to mine anytime.

*Copyright 2011 by Caleb Barber. Photo by Karee Wardrop.

Four Blue Heron*

May 27, 2011

Cindi Williamson reads her winning poem, "Four Blue Heron"

2011 Walk Award
By Cindi Williamson

Four Blue Heron

At once four blue heron lifted,
flying toward the lake
with necks curled up
like paper clips,
their feet fluttering like
loose threads behind them,
like long useless fringe.
I thought to wake you
But they were gone
as soon as they appeared.
And all that remained
were the swelling trees,
with hollow places
among the branches
filling up with green
water where the heron walk.

*Copyright 2011 by Cindi Williamson. Photo by Karee Wardrop.

the engineer*

May 26, 2011

Lucas Walker read his winning poem, "the engineer"

2011 Walk Award
By Lucas Walker

the engineer

his belt buckle is made entirely of pennies
maybe three inches across, three inches around.
pennies he finds along the railroad tracks
left by kids and the others
curious about the weight of a train
pouring speed over steel rails
leaving Lincoln’s face and monument
an oval remnant of copper
no longer good for exchange
but still warm from the train wheels
keeping force in their corner.

he collects them in a can on his workbench.
when it fills up he dumps them out
and arranges the old pennies into a likable shape
then solders the edges together, some filing, sanding
and a lot of rubbing with a soft cloth.
over the years his friends have all got one
for Christmas or a birthday.
every time he sees me he says,
you’re the only one who actually wears one.
it’s his self-conscious pride that I relate to
but I tell him every time, I wear the belt buckle
because I like it.

*Copyright 2011 by Lucas C. Walker. Photo by Karee Wardrop.


May 25, 2011

George Such reads his winning poem, "Veiled"

2011 Walk Award
By George Such


Women of the Jodhpur palace once sat
on this marble bench, looking down
at both courtyards through these jalis,
screens of red sandstone, carved
so they could see out, but not be seen.

They must have enjoyed this private world,
invisible as gods, the breeze
through the riddle, the gossip about
the goings-on below.

Sometimes, even though I know you well,
I see your eyes as jalis, you
behind them smiling, your world veiled
as it needs to be,
whispered through windows of stone.

*Copyright 2011 by George Such. Photo by Nancy Canyon.

Painting Lesson*

May 24, 2011

Timothy Pilgrim - Painting Lesson - 2011 Walk Award

2011 Walk Award
By Timothy Pilgrim

Painting lesson

Onyx spider drawn to spin
from frond on fern to fence,
and back again, lost control

as I thrashed by, let silk out fast,
spiraled wide, around, splashed down
near brush dipped deep

in white paint tin. My ruthless youth,
Genghis Tim to arachnid kin
dunked this way — some forced to swim,

others stroked latex on window trim —
this time, I grabbed a twig,
dipped it in, scooped coated spider

to cupped palm of withered hand.
Garden hose set on drip, I rinsed
her whiteness black again.

*Copyright 2011 by Timothy Pilgrim. Placard design by Egress Studio.


May 23, 2011

Rachel Mehl reading her winning poem, Bellingham

2011 Walk Award
By Rachel Mehl


Today I’ll wake up late,
drink too much coffee,
eat leftover shepherd’s pie
with mustard and soy sauce.
I’ll monitor the sump pump
and keep an eye on the chickens
while the rain drowns
bugs and muddies our lawn
seeping through the basement floor,
ankle deep. Adding to the black
mud of last month’s snow melt.
At the top of the hill my ancestors
are buried across from the wrought iron
fence of the Jewish cemetery.
It’s been long enough their bones
have jelled and thickened the lake
my father swam in as a boy,
where we still get our drinking water.
After their wedding my parents
raced up that hill. My father eddied
around headstones past the grey-faced
angel and the woman with two broken arms
who still leans forward like a zombie,
The man I live with shoots zombies on the TV.
If I drink enough wine my liver will turn grey.

*Copyright 2011 by Rachel Mehl. Photo by Karee Wardrop.

teach me reeds*

May 22, 2011

Norman L. Green reads his winning poem, teach me reeds

2011 Walk Award
By Norman L. Green

teach me reeds

a wind instrument
held to the right lips by the right hands
is a communication tube to the divine.

the people
who have given themselves to reed instruments
are fully surrendered priests of sound.

the note
held all by itself must tell
a complete story of surrender and confession.

The bend between two notes
is a bridge between seconds.
Looking down from this span

one sees into multiple worlds,
feels their intersections
loses the fear of falling — cultivates opportunities to fall.

cut me with a reed at each end,
and let the breath
pass through.

*Copyright 2011 by Norman L. Green. Photo by Nancy Canyon.